


of new beginnings

by moonstruckfool



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Jealousy, Parent-Child Relationship, another kid!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstruckfool/pseuds/moonstruckfool
Summary: The Turners welcome a new addition to their family - stirring up not-so-old insecurities and anger, but also resulting in new revelations and reconciliations.(This makes references to a happening in That Would Be Enough, an earlier fic I posted, so you might want to read that first before you read this.)
Relationships: Elizabeth Swann & Henry Turner, Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, Henry Turner & Will Turner
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	of new beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> have spent a long time alternating between loving and hating this (what's new), hope to God yalls like it!!  
> comments and kudos loved and appreciated

The agonised screams and yells from his parents' bedroom stutter to a stop, and are replaced by a softer, quieter, different sort of cries. He lets out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and wipes his face with his shirt. The baby is alive, if nothing else. He has a sibling. He gets up from his bed and goes onto the landing, pressing an ear to the door behind which his mother has laboured for the past hours. All he can make out are muffled voices and the whimpering of the baby. He resists the urge to barge into the room - dead or alive, his mother deserves her privacy - and tries to content himself with the fact that he has a brother. Or a sister. He's never thought he'd have one, his father being away - he knew enough about such things to know Father would need to be here for another child. But he is here, and has given Henry, at the age of twenty-two, a sibling. Better late than never, he figures. It's fortunate that Mother is still young enough to manage it. Or so he hopes.

It is a good while before the door opens - he jumps away from it, startled. The midwife comes out, smiling at him before heading for the stairs. He watches as she goes. She'd looked at him in a funny sort of way before going to attend his mother, and he can't think why. He can't tell if this smile is genuine, bearing good news, or one of pity. But the door is still open, and he heads right for it, to find out for himself.

Father stands in the doorway, a tired but broad smile on his face, and Henry knows all is well.

"Come in, Henry. It's a girl."

He doesn't need to be told twice - he rushes in excitedly and makes straight for the bed, which still bears some red stains. Pushing back his mother's tousled hair, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her sweat-streaked brow.

"I'm all right, darling," she reassures him. "So is your sister." 

His sister - he gazes down at the little head on Mother's chest. A  _ sister.  _ He thinks he might burst with joy. A little sister! It's a dream come true.

"Would you like to hold her, Henry?"

"I...oh. Yes."

He takes the baby from Mother slowly, putting his hands where she guides them to. She is much lighter than he’d expected.

"Hello," he says softly. Her eyes are open, the same deep brown of his own.

She is so tiny, in his arms. So small, so perfect - the little button of her nose and the small rosy lips so beautiful. The tuft of hair atop her head is dark as a raven's wing, dark as the long tresses of the man that stands an arm's length away, smiling at them.

She takes after Father, that much is obvious.

A sudden rage wells up in him. How dare she? 

After all the years he's spent gazing at himself in the mirror, searching for traces of his father, searching for a solid, physical sign that he was the son of William Turner, captain of the  _ Flying Dutchman _ , the love of his mother's life. All those years searching, and finding none, staring desperately at the miniature of Father that Mother had given him and trying to see his features in himself. She'd tried to comfort him - the miniature wasn't quite accurate; and anyway, Father was in his smile, his stubborn determination and that clever tongue, silver and sharp as convenient - but it hadn't been enough. Whatever of Father's that Mother saw in him, he couldn't see. He knew he was  _ her _ son, of course, anyone could see that, but he'd wanted, so badly, to know that he had a part of Father in him, anything that would make his absence more bearable.

And how dare she, when he'd been here from the day she was conceived and all throughout their mother's pregnancy and her birth, when she doesn't and won't at all need to grasp for any tiny remnant of Father - what need has she to share his face?

He feels himself begin to tremble, and unceremoniously plants his sister - he doesn't even know her name yet - into Father's arms firmly. She begins to fuss, startled by the sudden movement, and he strides off towards the stairs of the lighthouse with her soft cries echoing after him. He balls his hands into fists - he will  _ not  _ feel guilty.

*

"Henry!" he calls after his son, rocking the baby in his arms. He turns to his wife in panic. "Was it something I did?"

Elizabeth takes the child from him, making soothing noises. "Hush, darling, it's all right. There you go. It's all right," she murmurs, putting the babe to her breast. "I don't think so, Will."

"Should I go after him?"

She bites her lip and considers for a moment.

"I'll talk to him. He'll come back, give him some time."

He nods slowly and settles himself on the edge of the bed, watching curiously as she nurses their daughter. It's the first time he's seen her do it, but he knows it isn't new to her.

"Was he like this too?" He gestures briefly to the small dark head. He never had the chance to see Henry as an infant, and that loss grates on him especially now, as he's sure it does Elizabeth.

"Hmm. I think he was bigger - he had a bigger head, for sure." She smiles wryly, remembering. "His hair wasn't like what it is now. It was a little like hers, actually." She strokes the child's head tenderly.

"Really?" he asks, fascinated. "And then it lightened?"

"Mm-hm. Must've been the sun. Just like mine, if you remember." She purses her lips thoughtfully. "It might have been better if it didn't."

"Why?"

"Oh, Will - he wanted so much to look like you."

"What? When? After he met me?"

"Before, I think. After, it seemed like meeting you that once placated him somewhat. We had that little painting of you, do you remember? That we had done in Port Royal before Beckett came? He kept comparing himself to it. I think he was nearly seven when he saw it first - he’d spend hours at my dressing-table, Will, looking in the mirror and telling me his nose wasn’t sharp enough for him to have got that from you. Poor boy, he looks so much like me.”

“You’re beautiful, both of you are. But I gather that’s not why?”

“No, indeed. I think he just really needed visible proof that he had a father. Being a near-exact copy of me didn't help.” 

“Oh.” The years of his absence in his son’s life often come back to haunt him, but he’d never dreamed that Henry could have needed someone he never knew so desperately. He knew that they had - still have - a lot to catch up on, but he’s never considered that Henry might be so upset about it. “Elizabeth, I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I didn’t come back, the second time. When I could have.”

She is silent for a while. They’ve discussed it before, and he’s explained himself and apologised, but he knows it still hurts her; she and Henry both.

“I know why you did it, Will. You wanted the best for us.”

“But it wasn’t, was it? Best. For all of us.”

“No.” The baby has fallen asleep - Elizabeth eases her off the nipple, and he helps pull her shift back over her shoulder. “But you’re home now. That’s all that matters.”

“Not to Henry.”

She sighs deeply, her forehead creasing. “I don’t know what to do, Will. I don’t know how to make him feel better. I tried to tell him that it’s still the same, even with this little one. You and I still love him as much as always. But I don’t know if it helped.”

“Let me talk to him. Perhaps it will help.”

“Maybe I should-”

“I think he should hear it from me, Elizabeth. I know that you’re trying to be a bridge between us, but I do need to talk to him. Let me understand him myself, instead of indirectly from you.” 

He’d have been a fool not to notice that she’s often offered to supervise his communication with Henry these months, and even to do it on his behalf at times. He’d accepted her help, fearing at first that she’d be right and he would bollocks it up if he tried to talk to Henry alone. He knows it’s hard for her, to have to accustom herself to no longer being Henry’s only mentor and confidant, but they cannot keep going on like this. It’s become clear that Henry needs his father in his full capacity, and while that will not happen for some time, they should make a start on getting there. And now, for he must be able to provide his daughter with the same love and guidance when she is old enough to need it.

“I’m sorry, Will, you know I don’t mean to imply that you’re… that you won’t be good at this, I know you will. It’s just that I’ve known him since he was born, and you…”

“Have only just begun to know him. But we both need to see each other for ourselves and not just in relation to you.”

She looks mildly distressed, and he worries he’s hurt her. But then she nods with a small smile. “All right.”

“Will you both be all right? I'll find him."

"Yes. I'll be thinking of a name for this one."

"You do that." 

He kisses her, lays a gentle hand on the sleeping baby's head, then leaves, going down the steps as fast as he can.

*

Henry is near the edge of the cliff that has become a poignant reminder of the past, scuffing his shoes in the grass. He comes up slowly behind his son, taking care to step noisily. Henry stiffens, his feet stilling, but makes no move to turn around. 

“I do hope you’re not planning to throw yourself off.” He regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth - could he have picked a more insensitive thing to say? He’s supposed to fix things, damn it, not bring up painful memories!

Henry turns with a thunderous expression, and he knows he’s truly gone and messed it up now, but his son frowns curiously - he wonders if there’s perhaps something on his face - and then, inexplicably, grins. 

“No, as long as you aren’t.”

He laughs, then, as much in relief as in mirth. 

“No, Henry. Never again.” Henry’s smile begins to fade, and he hastens to reassure. “I promise.” 

“I know, Father.”

“But that’s not quite enough, is it, Henry?” he presses gently. 

Henry puts his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground.

“It should be, shouldn’t it?”

“No.”

“No?” His son looks up, an eyebrow raised. He really is so much like Elizabeth.

“I don’t expect it to be, for you.” He reaches out and takes Henry’s hands in his, gripping them tightly. “There’s so much you never had, so much I never gave you. It isn’t fair for me or your mother to expect you to be satisfied with what we have now.”

Henry’s lips tighten, and he nods ever so slightly. He takes it as a signal that he can go on.

“I know I can’t give you back all those years. I know it will never be as if I never left your mother.” He breathes deeply, and looks straight into his son’s eyes. “But I’d like to try. Will that be all right?”

Henry looks away, a tear rolling down his cheek, and slips a hand out of his grasp to swipe at it.

He presses his lips to the hand that he’s still holding, then releases it. “I promise I will always have time for you. Always.”

“Even… even with her?”

He needs not ask to know which one Henry’s referring to.

“Even with her. I love her, but she’s not the one I’ve wronged. Not yet. I hope,” he adds, slightly flustered.

His son gives a watery laugh. “Yes,” he says, “All right,” and begins to cry in earnest, his shoulders shaking. 

He hesitates for a moment, shocked, then folds Henry into his arms, patting his back. He holds his son for a long time, shedding tears of his own. 

“I love you,” he says at last.

“I love you, Father.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“I- “

“It needn’t be right now.”

“Yes. Someday. Soon.”

*

They name her Charlotte Elizabeth. 


End file.
